


The Love of Two Hunters...

by PastPresentFiction



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Older Man/Younger Woman, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23923948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastPresentFiction/pseuds/PastPresentFiction
Summary: My name is Parisa Singer-Allison.  I'm Bobby Singer's adult daughter.  A daughter that none of his associates know about, a daughter that NO ONE knows about if I'm being honest.  I've lived with my maternal grandparents since birth, finally having visits during the summer when I was toddler age.  I'm one of the reasons Dad prefers to have some warning about expected guests.  I'm the reason there are rooms in his house that are kept locked, some from me, others from everyone else.Dad is the first hunter who loved me (ew, not that way, perverts), but he thought I didn't know he was a hunter.  I probably wouldn't have known, but while working toward my Master's in a town far away from Dad's, I met another hunter.  John Winchester.  And, boy did I learn a few things about the world that my dad only hinted at.  From him I realized that the warning Dad always gave me about what lurks in the darkness was a real warning.  From him I learned that my world would always involve hunters, and hunting regardless of Dad's carefulness.  From him I learned that I'd be loved by a second hunter.Now, my two hunters, and my two worlds are colliding.  How will I tell Dad that his friend is a man who captured my heart?AU
Relationships: Bobby Singer/ Original Female Character-Daughter, John Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of the Supernatural Universe (do I have to keep reiterating this? Yes, because of you know branding and stuff.). I do own Parisa, and I'm starting to like her a bit. We'll see.
> 
> Also, when I wrote and posted this way too early in the morning, I failed to add the Alternative Universe tag. My big bad. Clearly.

I ran down the stairs of my dad’s house, yelling as I clamored down. “Daddy? Do you know where I put my-” I stopped at the bottom when I realized he had company. That would explain the loud motors I’d heard while packing, I thought. My gaze ran over a guy a little younger than me, another guy around my age, and then HIM. Shit. I took a breath and realized that my dad was glaring at the three of them and hadn’t even glanced my way. Thank God.

“Daddy?” I called again, noticing that none of them had heard or noticed me. Suddenly four pairs of eyes were on me and I felt a little bit uncomfortable with the attention. “Um, hey.” I gave a small wave, praying that John had the common sense to pretend we’d never fucking met before. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” I stood on the third stair from the bottom. “I just need to know if you’ve seen my flip flops?” It was lame, but the truth, and I could feel John’s smirk from where I stood even without glancing at his face.

“Daddy?” The older of the two younger men whispered at my dad. “Bobby, there something you haven’t told us?” 

I bit my lip, my dad’s glare clearly not for me. “Shut up, you idjit.” He growled and smiled at me. “Sweetheart, I think you left them outback.” I nodded and smiled. “These guys just came to watch the football game with me, guess they forgot to CALL.” His glare returned to the source of his ire. 

“Thanks,” I grinned, thinking that whatever John Winchester and the other two men were actually here for, they would definitely be getting an earful. 

I jogged down the last three stairs and ran through the house to the back door. Letting it shut behind me, I looked around the back stoop, and sure enough there they were. Grabbing them, I considered waiting to let my dad give his visitors the tongue-lashing he wanted to. After all, I knew precisely how much he hated people just showing up on his doorstep without calling first. Not that he’d get pissed at me, but when other people turned up while I was visiting, he’d lose his shit. To put it politely. 

Waiting until I felt that Dad had no doubt got most of it out of his system, I opened the back door and listened. I couldn’t hear anything, but I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt arms wrap around my waist and pull me tight against a hard chest. “Shh,” I felt his hot breath beside my ear, so I knew he was leaning over me. Jesus, John Winchester would be the fucking death of me. “Hey,” his voice, deep and smooth rolled over me as I relaxed for a moment in his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me who your dad is?” 

I rolled my eyes. “One, I didn’t know you knew my dad, John. And two, you should probably let me go, before my dad kills you.” I felt his chuckle rush through me, and found myself smiling. “Seriously, he’ll chase your ass with a shotgun, I’ve seen it happen.” 

He turned me to face him, forcing me to tilt my head up. Trust me to always fall for the tall ones. I bit my lip taking in his face. “I think I’ll risk it,” his head dipped and his lips brushed mine. I sighed and closed my eyes, letting myself enjoy it for a minute. I could hear Dad’s voice from the library, gruffly grumbling at the two other men. John pulled back, listening. “I think he’s hitting his stride with my boys.” 

I raised my eyebrow. “Your boys?” I knew he had kids, he’d shared a great deal of his life story with me, but I had somehow always pictured children. “Those two are Dean and Sam?” I could hear the incredulous tone my voice took and he grinned down at me picking it up easily.

“That would be them.” His thumb brushed over my bottom lip and I had to fight the urge to flick my tongue against the calloused pad. “Why didn’t Bobby ever tell me about you?” I could tell it was a question he didn’t expect to be answered, which was good, because I really had no idea. “Why haven’t I ever seen you here before?” 

Now that I could answer. “I told you, John, I live with my grandparents.” I shrugged, that was the simple answer, the rest was so complicated that I didn’t know or understand half of it. “You’re going to have to release me, before he catches you pawing at me.” I softened the blow with a smile. “I’m leaving to go back today.” 

He sighed and unwrapped his arms. “Back to school?” As though he realized what season it was, he shook his head. “Back to your grandparents’?” 

I nodded, and pulled away. “Yeah, my visits to Dad aren’t long, but they’re memorable.” I smiled up at him and whispered, “let me know when you’re back in my neck of the woods, ok?” I bit my lip and rushed to take the stairs back up to my room, so I could finish packing and get on the road before Dad deemed it too late to go. 

I was still gathering my things when I heard a light knock on my door. “Come in.” I kept stopping to try to think about whether I was leaving anything behind, I was in the process of one such moment when Dad opened the door. “Hey, Daddy.” I offered absently as I tried to remember where I last saw my toiletry bag. The bathroom would have been a safe bet, but I knew it wasn’t there, I’d checked. I realized that Dad hadn’t said a word, and I stopped to look up at him. “Daddy?” 

“Honey, I think it would be best if you stayed the night.” He looked conflicted at the mere thought, but I glanced out the window and realized he was right. Shit, I’d lost the light. “I know we talked about you going today, but-”

“I know, Daddy, the night holds terrors that I don’t even know about.” I’d heard this since I was old enough to remember the words, but I was certain he’d been saying it for far longer. I sighed, knowing that he was upset because the Winchesters were here, and he didn’t want me to meet them, or anyone from his life here. “I’m sorry.” I felt like I’d screwed up by fucking up and not being ready to go earlier. It was just that, I really truly loved being with him. My dad, this amazing guy that just freaking loved me so much and made every moment with him memorable. 

“Oh, sweetheart, nothin’ for you to be sorry about.” He pulled me to him and I sighed into the feeling of his hug. My dad was so soft and sweet, that hugging him would be the easiest way to comfort me, even during my earliest childhood and I was still getting used to the visits. “Just hate that those idjits had to ruin our last day.” His voice was gruff, but I heard fondness even in the word idjits. 

I grinned and pulled back. “Why haven’t you told them about me?” I had never asked the question, never thought I should, but now it was bothering me a bit. “Why don’t you want your friends to know about me, Dad?” 

He sighed and sat on my bed. I took a seat next to him, pushing one of my bags out of the way. “Honey, some of the people I deal with, they deal with some bad things.” I squinted, trying to decide what he was telling me. “I don’t want you involved, it’s dangerous, so if they don’t know about you, then you can’t be targeted.” Jesus, he made it sound like the mafia.

“Daddy?” I took his hand and asked a question that I doubted he would have thought I’d even know to ask. “Are you a hunter?” 

His eyes widened, and I knew. Confirmation, finally. I had wondered, after meeting John, and seeing some of the things he’d said or done. The things he used, the way he spoke, all of it sounded like my dad. “Of course I’m a hunter, honey.” He brushed it off, about to talk about deer or some other nonsense.

“You know what type of hunter I mean, Daddy.” I said, rolling my eyes. “You hunt the bad things in the darkness that you’ve been warning me about since I was a toddler.” His hand clenched in mine. “It’s ok, really.” 

“No,” he stood up and began pacing. “Sweetie, you don’t understand. You can’t understand. Keeping you away from all this, from them,” I knew he meant other hunters, not just John, but I felt my heart clench. “Keeps you safe. We don’t just hunt them, honey, they hunt us too.” 

I wanted to understand, but I also knew that NOT being a hunter could make you hunted too. That’s how I’d met John, after all. He’d been in the town I was going to college in, working on my Master’s degree, hunting for something stalking the coeds of my college. We’d met, after he’d finished it, he was covered in blood, some his own, and I’d offered him a place to clean up. Adrenaline was a great aphrodisiac. As was the fact that I could see the safety in his eyes, the clear proof that he was a good one. Of course I couldn’t tell Dad this, not even close to it. 

“But, Dad,” I stood and took his hand again, forcing him to stop pacing. “I’m not a child anymore. You know that. I don’t want to have to hide or rush away so no one sees me when I visit. And I don’t want your friends to be shocked when I call you ‘daddy’ or ‘dad’ because they don’t know. I feel like some kind of dirty little secret.” It rushed out of me, and I realized that it had bothered me more than I admitted even to myself. 

Dad’s eyes pinched at my words, I knew it hurt him to hear, but how did he think it felt to feel it? “Aww, sweetheart, you’re not a dirty secret.” He wrapped me in another hug, kissing the top of my head. “Why didn’t you tell me you felt like this?” I shrugged. “Damn it, I’ve done so much wrong, that even what I thought I was doin’ right was wrong.” I felt him sigh, but he didn’t pull away, just held me, giving and getting comfort. “Come downstairs, guess it’s time you met the idjits I deal with all the damn time.” 

I giggled and pulled back. “Does that mean I don’t have to rush back tomorrow?” I asked, hoping that he knew that I’d stay forever if he let me. He gave a gruff snort and I called it a win. “Let me toss my things away, at least for now, and I’ll be right down.” He kissed my forehead and smiled. 

“That’s fine, Parisa. Take your time.” I smiled, realizing that he’d used my name, usually it was terms of endearment, but this time he used the name my mother had picked. I’d once looked it up, and realized that she’d picked a name that meant ‘like an angel’. That was a hell of a lot to live up to, but I also realized, when I met John and he told me things about his life, that angels weren’t always so innocent. He walked out of my room, taking a long look at me before he closed my door. 

I sat down on the bed. Taking a beat to get my thoughts in order. One harsh truth down, I thought, now how and when could I explain about John and I?


	2. Chapter 2

TWO YEARS EARLIER~ SMALL LIBERAL ARTS COLLEGE

I was walking across the darkened campus, cursing myself for getting caught up in research that I’d been doing for a project that I was slowly becoming convinced would make a great building block toward my dissertation. My dad’s voice was as clear as a bell in my mind, ringing over and over about the monsters that lurk in darkness. It rang especially true since just today I’d noticed another newspaper alerting me and my fellow students of another girl’s death. 

As if my father’s warnings were coming true in real time, I heard a scuffling coming from the darkness. The scuffling noise turned into groans, then growls, then a slick sound like when a person cuts into a head of fresh lettuce. I scrunched up my nose, and fighting Dad’s voice, I walked toward the sound. As I made it to the dark spot between the college bookstore and the science’s building, he staggered out. Covered in blood and some other kind of fluid, I nearly turned and ran, but he looked like he needed help. 

I was torn for a split second, but then my need to help took over. I rushed forward and that’s when I noticed the blade in his hand. Shit, guess I was completely fucking wrong. He looked up from where he was bent over, and his eyes met mine. They were a warm honey color and I stopped breathing. He was older than me, I could see that even through the grime and blood on his face, and taller, but that wasn’t exactly a difficult characteristic to have opposite me. I glanced at the hand holding the blade and he realized why I stopped.

“I won’t hurt you.” His voice was deep and low, and I felt the truth of his words. “I just,” he staggered again, and I realized he was hurt.

I regained my sense of purpose and rushed forward, hoping that my intuition was right about him, because dying before I finished, well anything would suck. I wasn’t entirely sure how I could help him, but I took his arm, the one not holding the blade and put it over my shoulder. I felt him groan again and sighed. “I’m not exactly the strongest person on campus, Mr.-” I stopped not knowing how to finish his name, but powered through my lack of knowledge. “But I can get you to the infirmary?” 

“No,” another groan. “I’ll be fine, it just hit me in the ribs harder than I thought.” I glanced at his face, coated with blood. “Trust me, princess, the blood isn’t mine.” And he grinned at me, a dimple peeking through his stubbly face. 

“OK.” I considered my options. I had an off-campus apartment, not far from the college. My dad insisted, since he didn’t trust dorms for some weird reason that he never explained, though I swore I heard something about ghosts, but who knew with him? “I live a few streets over,” I took a breath, “if you’d like to clean up, and then I can look at your ribs.” 

He was leaning on me as little as he could, but I could feel his strength leaving him, bit by bit. “My truck is,” he pointed with the blade he still held in his hand. I looked to where he was pointing and saw it, half hidden under one of the willow trees in the nearby parking lot. 

I nodded and started forward, happy that he was pulling most of his weight, even if he was listing a bit toward my side. “Um, I’m Parisa Allison.” I offered, thinking that at least we should be introduced. I felt him chuckle and stop as quickly as he started. Yep, his ribs were definitely bruised at least. “What? I think if I’m taking you home with me, you should at least know my name.”

“John Winchester.” He offered, as we drew nearer his truck. Fuck, I thought, looking at the height of it. I hoped he could manage getting himself up in it, because getting myself into the passenger side would be a struggle for me. 

We got to the truck and he did something unexpected. He tossed me a set of keys from his pocket. “I hope you know how to drive, princess, because I don’t think I’m going to be much use right now.” 

I struggled to get him to the passenger side, happy that unlocking the door wasn’t a fucking chore. The truck looked vaguely familiar, like one my dad had had at his place, but that couldn’t be. I was happy to watch him drag himself into the seat, and then I rounded the front and opened the driver’s door. Sighing, I basically had to launch myself into the damn thing. I hated it, and being short, and the entire ordeal, but I got behind the wheel. Now came the real problem. I couldn’t reach the damn pedals. Taking a second to get my bearings, and feeling around the seat, I finally found the adjustment lever. After a few tense moments when I thought I’d never get the fucking seat to move to where I needed it to, I finally relaxed. The pedals were at my tiptoes, but I could manage. 

“Damn, princess,” John sighed next to me and I realized I’d had a captive audience to my struggle. “You’re fucking tiny, aren’t you?” 

I chuckled and got the truck started. A few minutes later, we were at my apartment, and for not the first time I thanked God I’d gotten the ground floor. The entire ground floor of a Victorian house, that my dad had checked top to bottom, worried about drafts and cold spots. Tinkering with the light switches, and making sure there were no shorts. The man was a worrier. I parked on the street, my car still in its spot in the driveway. My upstairs neighbors had moved out after the winter semester, so I had the entire place to myself. Well, I would if I had the keys to the upstairs. 

Rushing around the truck, I opened the door to offer any assistance he might need. The only thing he seemed to need was my shoulders. Easily done, and I was happy to see he left the knife in the truck. Up the front steps, which were shallow and managed without much groaning, I leaned him against the side of the house while I fished out my keys. Unlocking the multiple locks, seriously my dad was a security freak, I opened the door and flicked on the light inside, illuminating my entryway. I looped John’s arm back across my shoulders and helped him inside. And then I reversed the process.

It took a bit to get him into the guest bathroom, but I managed, and then we came to a stalemate.

“You have to take it off,” I said, pointing at his shirt, the only thing left on his top half. “I can’t see how bad your ribs are if they’re covered, Mr. Winchester.” 

“John,” he bit out, glaring through his pain. “And unless you’re a doctor, princess, I don’t see why you have to look.” 

I rolled my eyes. “I have to look because you won’t let me take you to see a DOCTOR, JOHN.” I snapped out his name and he smiled. He fucking smiled. Ugh. Fine, I thought, screw it. I stepped into his personal space, feeling him still where he was leaning against the counter. I moved my fingers to the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it, realizing he wasn’t fighting because I shocked him, I kept yanking until I’d pulled it over his head. “There, was that so damn difficult?” I didn’t look up at his face, I was too busy studying the angry red splotch that covered his side. Red and turning purplish as I watched. Fuck. I bit my lip and whispered, “This might sting a bit,” as my fingers, as gently as possible, probed the area. He hissed and I bit my lip harder, I couldn’t feel any breaks, but he was going to be sore for a while. “I don’t think you have any broken ribs. But that’s going to hurt like a bitch for some time.” I suddenly noticed that he’d gone completely silent after the hiss, and keeping my fingers on his side, I looked up. Those honey colored eyes were so dark now that I nearly lost my breath. 

Before I could wrap my head around the change in his eyes, he was lowering his head and then his lips brushed mine. His hands, which had been clutching the counter top behind him, raised to cup my face, as I sighed and gave his tongue the access he definitely wanted. Flicking it against my own, tempting me to join it in a dance, I smiled and complied. My hands found his waist and I moved closer, fully in his space now, but he didn’t seem to mind. Sliding my hands up his bare back, to his neck, I felt him moan into my mouth at the touch. My eyes closed, our mouths locked together, I nipped his bottom lip and he groaned. Fuck, he was injured and here I was mauling him. I pulled my lips from his, but he wouldn’t let me go far. 

“Are you-did I,” I felt him chuckle, and while it was low and deep, it didn’t last long. He sucked in a breath and I nodded. “You’re injured, for fuck’s sake.” I pulled away from him and he was smiling down at me. 

“Pretty sure I totally forgot my ribs, baby girl.” His hands were tugging at the belt loops on my jeans, trying to pull me back, but I was trying to stand firm. “Shit, are you-did I,”

It was my turn to grin. “I want to, trust me, I want to.” Reading his fear loud and clear. “But you’re hurt.” I pointed at his ribs, and the face that we hadn’t gotten around to cleaning. “And covered in blood and something else.” I struggled to make sense of the other muck. 

“Then why don’t we,” he glanced at the shower behind me. “Clean me up?” 

I closed my eyes, he was incorrigible. Fucking incorrigible. And I wasn’t going to be able to resist him, damn it. “Fine.” I opened my eyes to his smile. “Fine. We’ll get you cleaned up.” I licked my lip and saw his attention focus on my mouth. “Let me grab you something to wear, after your shower.” 

I started to turn, but his hands stopped me, pulling me back into his chest. “Our shower. And if you live alone, I think I’ll be alright until morning.” Shit. I had to fight back a moan. Why did I have to find him? Tall, dark, and manly. My type. To a T. Fuck.

I felt his fingers slide down to my shirt hem, tugging it experimentally, seeing if it was alright. I shook my head, and my hands joined his, pulling it off my body. His fingers were calloused, and they felt amazing running down my arms and back up and over my shoulders. Then down my spine until they found the clasp of my bra. A flick and it was open, a shrug of my shoulders and it joined my shirt. Then his lips were on the back of my neck and I was done for, my hips rocked back into his and I felt his smile at my nape. His fingers, still roaming my skin like he was on a treasure hunt, found the front of my jeans, the button was opened and the zipper down before I could fully comprehend it. I kicked off my shoes and shimmied out of the denim. Left in my panties, I turned, forcing his mouth from where he’d been sampling the skin where my shoulder met my neck. 

I let my fingers slide across his stomach, careful of the red splotch, down to his belt. I worked as quickly as he had, his eyes never leaving mine. Soon, I was sliding down with his pants, taking care to remove his boots and giving him time to steady himself after pulling the jeans from each foot. Wearing only his boxers, I looked up at the impressive tent he’d formed. I heard him moan, and knew he liked the picture he was seeing. Me, on my knees, looking up at him. Maybe later. He needed a shower and I wanted to make sure he was taken care of, medically speaking, of course. 

I rose to my feet, and keeping my eyes on his, I slipped my panties off. Tossing them onto the growing pile of our clothes. My hands went to his boxers, and I smiled at him as I repeated the route I’d taken with his jeans. “Wait here.” I ordered, turning and opening the shower door. Adjusting the temperature of the water, I turned back to see him studying me intently. “I don’t want it to be too hot or too cold, do I?” 

The steam was starting to gather as I took his hand and pulled him in as I walked backward into the water stream. I turned, forcing him to turn as well, so he was full under the flow. I watched as the grime and blood ran down his face, and picked up a washcloth I kept stocked for unexpected guests. Using the soap that was always waiting, just in case, I lathered the cotton and then raised my hand to wash his face. Careful of his eyes, but making sure every speck of blood and who knew what was gone. I sat it aside, and grabbed the shampoo, washing his hair as carefully. Then, once the shampoo was rinsed away, I took back up the washcloth and took care that every inch of John Winchester was put back in pristine order. Always careful of his wound, always careful of the one part of him that he surely wanted the most attention for, I lathered him up and rinsed him off. 

I was shocked at how much restraint he showed. I could see his fists clench every now and then, but he kept his hands to himself. Up until I deemed him clean, and then, whether the warm water or my ministrations helped his pain, he let go. His hands pulled me tight against him, his hardness flush against my stomach. His lips found mine again, and he swallowed the moan that would have been indecent in any other setting. Our mouths feasted on one another, our hands touching and teasing. Until finally, neither of us could wait. The water, still warm, rushed over us as he gripped me in his arms and pressed me against the tile wall. And then he was inside of me, and he was everywhere. His mouth and tongue on my throat, his hands on my hips, and I was so full of John Winchester that I thought I’d never be the same.

And boy was I right.


	3. Chapter 3

I took my time before I came downstairs. I had a few questions, unfortunately most were things I couldn’t ask my dad without looking weird. And some were clearly going to be for John’s ears only.

As I walked down, I was happy to hear that Dad was over most of his irritation. At least the verbal bitching part was over and done with. I found Dad with the Winchester men crowded around the kitchen table, instead of food, weapons were abundant.

“Unless you guys expect to eat,” I took a careful look at the array of weaponry and shook my head. “Blades and bullets, I’d suggest you move that to another room. Any other room, actually.” I felt their attention focus on me and rolled my eyes. “Should I make dinner, or do you four really not eat when no one is around to remind you?”

John chuckled and I had to close my eyes to forget all the other times that sound shot through me. I cleared my throat and reopened them to see nothing had changed. It was ALMOST like I was speaking Greek, almost because I was fairly certain that Dad had a pretty decent hand with languages that I’d only dipped my toe in.

“Seriously, Dad?” I groaned at his sly smile. Oh, I see, now I know about hunters and hunting, welcome to the club of weapons before food. Not on my watch. “Fine, I’ll just order something and go pick it up from town.” I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and knew that each and every one of them had looked at the darkness outside the window. Oh well, it was take out, or starvation, and I knew which one I’d pick. “Pizza, alright?” Not hearing agreement or dissent, I walked from the kitchen toward the living room. Ordering a few different options, and already knowing John and Dad’s preference, I had just pushed “End Call” when I heard the four of them clucking like wet hens.

Sighing, and suddenly uncertain I wanted to be a part of their club, I walked back to the kitchen, leaning against the wall and watching them bicker about- me apparently. Huh, this was a fun new development. I waited for them to notice me, for them to realize that I was a grown ass woman, or for them to just notice that I’d finally managed to make them forget about maintenance of their weapons. It took the younger men more time to note me standing in the doorway, but John and then Dad came to it faster. It grew quiet, too quiet, as four sets of eyes focused on me again.

“What?” I asked, feeling self conscious. The silence was becoming oppressive, when Dad cleared his throat.

“Don’t want you going after that food alone, sweetheart.” I nodded, of course, that was a given. Why was he looking so irritated at the thought of it? “John here,” he grunted and pointed his chin at him, “insists he go with you.” Ah, that would do it.

I shrugged, keeping my eyes off of John Winchester. “Whatever you want, Daddy.” I answered, hoping that by putting the power in my dad’s hands, he’d feel less insecure about John’s clear interest. I saw him studying my face, and I prayed hard that my features were schooled into a look of indifference. Having John killed by one of the weapons he was helping prepare would really ruin the night. I fought against fidgeting a tell that I’d had since I was a child. And kept my focus on Dad’s face.

He finally huffed out a breath, and I nearly closed my eyes in relief, but that would have ruined the image I’d created of nonchalance. “Fine.” He had his hand on his wallet, but I shook my head. Dad rolled his eyes, a constant source of his irritation was the fact that my grandparents kept me in credit cards and cash. “I don’t want ya buying our dinner, honey.” Dear God, why did he have to have his hackles raised by the Winchesters and make this more difficult. Sighing, I held out my hand. He pressed more than enough money for the food, and I knew I’d be picking up drinks as well. “Don’t forget-”

I nodded, cutting him off. “I know your favorites, and I imagine that Mr. Winchester knows any other additions that I should add to the list.” He squinted at me, and I was trying to decide what I’d said wrong. Shit, had I been introduced to them? I fought to think back, while trying not to look panicked. Fuck. Had he told me their names? Should I know John’s last name?

I watched Dad shrug it off, but I knew, deep down he’d be considering it. During the entire time we were gone, no doubt. And I wondered, would he figure it out and be waiting with a weapon when we got back?

John insisted on taking his truck. The same truck I’d had to drive that first night. Instead of allowing me to jump onto the passenger seat, he came around and gave me a lingering hand up. I felt my eyes close as his calloused hands gripped my waist, sliding slightly under my t-shirt so I could feel him against my bare skin, and felt my breath catch. Swallowing hard, and fighting to not turn my head for the kiss I’d seek under normal circumstances, I was brought back to the reality of the situation by Dad yelling a reminder to John. Which I missed entirely as he hefted me into the seat, his fingertips brushing the bare skin of my thigh just below my shorts. Shit.

I heard his voice answer Dad, but God help me I didn’t actually hear anything that was said. Those hands, how long had it been since I’d felt them last. Really felt them, on my skin, pulling me against him. I kept my eyes closed, waiting for him and Dad to finish whatever they were discussing, so he could join me in the damn truck and we could be alone. Finally.

When I felt him join me in the truck, closing his door and bringing the truck roaring to life. I didn’t feel myself relax until I felt the gravel turn to pavement. “Feeling better, darlin’?” John’s voice was low, but I heard him just fine. “Aren’t you gonna come over here and show me that you missed me, just a little?” I groaned at him, and gave him a look that he caught. “Come on, Pari, you know you want to.” Christ, of course I did, but he was seriously pushing his luck with Dad.

I shifted, moving closer to him. “You can be such an ass, John Winchester.” I whispered, leaning my upper body closer to him, letting my lips touch his ear. “You’re fucking lucky I love you.” I felt his hand slide over to touch my leg, and I flicked my tongue against the skin just under his ear. Feeling him moan, and then the swerve of the truck, the tires hitting gravel and then stopping with a lurch.

His hands were on my waist, yanking me onto his lap, the steering wheel biting into my lower back. And then our lips met and I felt that same hard tug of need that I felt every single time we touched. He pulled back long enough to repeat my declaration of love, and I swore to myself that I’d savor those words every single fucking time he uttered them. “We don’t have time to do what I really want to do right now, Pari,” it came out as a groan and sounded as pained as I felt at the knowledge that we’d both be left wanting. “But I had to hold you, sweetheart,” His forehead was pressed against mine and we sat quietly breathing one another in.

“I know,” my voice was quiet. “Jesus, do you think Dad suspects?” I pulled back so I could see his face fully in the dim light offered by the moon.

He shook his head, but I could tell he wasn’t sure. “I don’t think so, but Bobby, he’s pretty fucking observant, baby girl. I think he thinks something’s off, but I don’t think he’s figured out what, yet.”

I pulled away, but kept his hand in mine. Sitting back against my seat, I considered what to do, but John knew we had to get to town. A brief break was one thing, but Dad wouldn’t be so understanding with a longer than he deemed necessary delay. Getting the truck back on the road, I bit my lip considering what our options were. Telling Dad outright sounded like a great idea, for a daughter whose father wasn’t armed to the gills. Breaking it to him gently, would probably go as well as the one time I’d had a boyfriend visit me during one of my vacations with Dad. That shotgun came out quick. The breakup was quicker.

We made it to town quicker than I’d expected, and while a part of me would have loved to take our time together, picking up dinner and shopping for the alcohol Dad liked, John’s favorites, and whatever it was his sons preferred, we decided on a divide and conquer approach. He parked in front of the pizza place, and while I went in to pay and pick the food up, he ran across the street to the liquor store with a handful of the bills Dad gave me. I was opening the passenger door of the truck, juggling boxes when I heard the noise of a car pulling up behind me. I pushed the boxes across the seat and was about to climb up when a voice stopped me.

“Why, Parisa Allison, I didn’t know you were in town.” I turned and a smile turned up the corners of my mouth. The one person who KNEW who I was in my dad’s life, Sheriff Jodi Mills stood before me. Her smile answered mine.

“I was supposed to leave today, but-” I saw her take in the dark and had a flash of curiosity. Did she know? “Anyway, getting your dinner, I guess?” Cocking toward the pizza place I’d just come out of. She nodded, and then squinted at the truck behind me. Oh, right. “Dad had visitors, so one offered to come with me to pick up our dinner.”

Jodi’s gaze faltered as I felt John come up beside me. “Hey, Sheriff.” He said, easily, putting down his overabundance of bags. Dear God, it looked like we were drinking dinner, which wouldn’t surprise the woman in front of me, I figured.

“John.” She answered, and that confirmed my suspicions, she knew. She knew about hunting, it was the way she said his name, as though she wanted to know why he was in town. If there was trouble, if she could help. But she kept it all to herself, still believing that I was innocent. I nearly groaned. Jesus, Dad did a bang up job of keeping me on the WAY down low.

I felt John’s hand on my back as he turned back to face her, out of sight of another person in my life who could see too much I hoped. His fingertips brushing under my shirt hem, making me want to fidget. Fuck, was he doing this shit on purpose. I heard them making small talk, and like at Dad’s house, I heard no real words. Static, my focus entirely on his fingers on my skin. Shit, he was short circuiting my brain. I noticed that the attention had shifted, and they were both looking at me. Damn it, someone asked me something and I heard not a word.

John’s eyes were twinkling in the neon of the shop sign. And that fucking dimple was mocking me. I bit my lip, feeling his fingers still on my skin and cleared my throat. “Sorry, I think I spaced out there. Did you ask me something?” I directed it at Jodi, thinking she probably was the source of the missed question.

She gave a light chuckle. “I asked, are you planning on staying for awhile longer? I thought you and I could have a girls’ day, I have a day off coming up.”

Ah, right. I nodded, feeling a spark against my back as John’s whole hand covered my bare lower back under my t-shirt. “I want to stay longer, but you know Dad.” I shrugged, swallowing hard at the heat from him. “Call me, and I’ll let you know, because I definitely need a girls’ day.”

Jodi smiled and agreed, then she said her goodbyes and walked into the pizza place. John’s head dipped to my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “I thought you left us for a second there, darlin’.” His hand was wreaking havoc on my body, and that was one hand on the small of my back. How the hell would we keep this a fucking secret from Dad?

We got back within Dad’s inner acceptable time frame. I mentioned meeting Jodi and her offer for a day together and I saw a hint of a smile. I knew that Dad had a bit of a crush on her, and I was fairly certain, if he’d get his temper and other vices under more control he’d have a chance. Any extra time with her would give me more time to talk him up. I hated that he stayed alone so much, even if he was hunting and helping hunters. It wasn’t the same, I thought, feeling my eyes search out John’s.

I was happy to see that John’s sons and Dad had cleared the table of hunting paraphernalia. I watched as the taller of the two, Sam, I think John had mentioned, casually found the plates while his brother, Dean grabbed napkins and glasses. I was also content to see that John had picked up some sparkling water for me. We gathered around the now crowded kitchen table, pushing through the boxes, grabbing pizza, wings, and the other favorites I'd ordered and I was startled by how naturally these men all went together. I was seated between Dad and John, the reality of it nearly made me laugh, nearly. And then, under the table, I felt John’s hand cup my knee. Luckily I hadn’t taken a bite yet, and my drink was safely on the table, so I didn’t choke, but I did gasp.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Dad asked me, turning away from something he and Dean were discussing or arguing about. The concern in his face made me swallow hard again. Shit.  
I felt John’s hand sliding up my leg and I bit my lip, grimacing.

“Yeah, Daddy, I’m fine.” The last part came out as a bit of a hiss, John’s fingers were teasing under the leg of my shorts. “I realized I forgot the red pepper flakes and-” another lip bite as his long thick finger slid higher, teasing my skin. “The Parmesan.”

I had an audience again. John was eating with his other hand, watching my face, knowing my other tells. But so were his sons, and Dad, for fuck’s sake. “That’s alright, honey,” Dad assured me, patting my arm and missing the fact that my hand was fisted on the table as John’s fingers pressed ever higher. “I’m sure we’ll make due.”

I nodded, feeling my face flush as he found his target, the edge of my panties. Fuck. I cleared my throat and dared to take a sip of my drink, thankful when he stilled his hand so I wouldn’t fucking choke. I was going to kill him. Honestly. Dad would be the least of his worries. I picked up my slice and was about to take a bite, when I glanced at him. He was smiling at something Sam was telling him, and I saw him dart a glance at me and give a small nod. Biting down, his finger slid under the elastic of my panties and touched me making me moan indecently as I chewed the bite I’d taken.

They were all focused on me again, John’s fingers stilling again, letting me swallow my bite and taking another drink, hoping it would somehow cool me down. “What?” I asked, sounding breathless to myself. “I haven’t had a good slice in quite some time.” Dean nodded, clearly agreeing with my assessment, but Dad was squinting at my face again and I felt like sinking into the damn floor.

Eventually talking resumed and so did John’s fingers. I was praying I was managing to hide the way he was affecting me, but I had doubts. Like when his finger slid between my dampness and I nearly jumped out of my seat. I covered it, as best I could, by feigning remembrance where I’d left my toiletry bag. Letting Dad soothe me into finishing dinner and making myself settle back into my chair. Or when his finger breached my opening and I knocked over my, thankfully almost completely empty glass, thankful that Dad had hunter’s reflexes and caught it before it made a mess. Like its owner. Dinner couldn’t end fast enough. At all. Then his hand, his teasing left, and I was able to follow the flow of conversation finally. Right up until I noticed him lick his finger, as though he’d accidentally gotten pizza grease or sauce on it. Closing his eyes and savoring the flavor. Of me. Shit.

I gave up. I called it a night. I gave Dad a kiss on his cheek and said I was exhausted. I told the Winchesters goodnight and then, as fast as I’d rushed down the stairs earlier that day, I ran right the fuck back up them.


	4. Chapter 4

I took a shower, making the water as cold as I could manage. Hoping against hope that it would cool down my flushed and overheated skin. It didn’t work. I came out of the shower, still as frustrated as I’d been when I scampered upstairs after faking exhaustion. Without the usual steam blocking the mirror from my use, I could see that my skin was still too pink, my nipples hard enough to hurt, and I couldn’t see it from the mirror, but Jesus, between the wet and want between my legs, I felt like I’d burst into flames.

I’d tried, in the cool water of the shower, to take things into my own hands. Tried being the operative word in that sentence. My fingers fell far short of what I so obviously wanted and needed. Damn John Winchester, no doubt downstairs with Dad and his boys, drinking and cleaning God knew what cache of weapons. Feeling superior and smug for working me into a state, in front of my Dad, and leaving me hanging. Shit.

I yanked on my nightgown, a shirt that I realized I’d pilfered from John. Accidentally of course, since he left it behind at my apartment. It was long on me, since the man was basically a mountain compared to me. And since it was plain black, I’d wore it here at Dad’s without fear. I pulled on a pair of black panties and ran a brush through my wet hair, I sighed. Sleep would be a fucking nightmare to even try in this state, but I had to give it a go, especially if Dad sent me packing in the morning.

I had just entered my room, when the arms belonging to the very man I had been cursing wrapped around me from behind. I hadn’t expected it, but I didn’t jump this time. I was way too keyed up from his hands under the table. I turned, and without a word, pulled his head to mine. Our lips met and I felt one of his hands leave me to shut my bedroom door, then the click of the lock turning. His hand came back, cupping my ass and pulling me tight against him. He pulled away to give me a warning I didn’t need.

“They’re still downstairs working, I begged off for sleep, so you have to be fucking quiet, princess.” I nodded, and then our lips met again, and I stifled my moan as I felt his hand snake up under his stolen shirt. His lips moved and I felt his smile as his breath played against my wet lips. “This looks and feels pretty familiar, Pari.” And then he licked back into my mouth and words were rendered useless.

His shirt came off over my head. My panties met it on the floor. The shirt he was wearing joined the pile, then I worked his belt free as his mouth was tasting my freshly washed skin. Soon his boots, jeans, and boxers were in the pile and he was pressing me into my mattress. We both heard the squeal of the springs and stopped. Our breathing heavy, we listened, wondering how loud the bed really was outside my room. He shifted and the headboard creaked. Fuck, really, bed?

I closed my eyes, feeling certain that we’d both end up fucking irritable from being this close to fulfilling the very promise of being together, when he kissed me once, and pulled away. I started to sigh, but his hand tugged on mine and I opened my eyes. “Come on, baby girl, toss the pillows and blankets on the floor. Can’t be louder than that damn bed.”

I smiled and together we created a semi-soft place to continue on the floor. And then, laying back on the pillows, John hovering over my body we heard the pounding of feet on the stairs. Are you fucking kidding me? My body was almost vibrating by this point, so near its goal, and yet so fucking far.

“John?” My dad’s voice called, and I closed my eyes and let my head settle back into the pillows. Luckily, the only light in my room came from beyond the open curtains, so he wouldn’t think to check here. Then I heard him jingle the doorknob, and my eyes locked on John’s. I felt mine widen and watched him mirror them. Shit. Dad was grumbling as he stomped along the hallway, still in search of John.

“Do you think he-” I started, barely breathing out the words. My heart was thumping painfully, and while I was still feeling slightly tingly well, the thought of Dad shooting John had dampened the fucking mood.

He brushed his lips against mine and started reaching for his clothes. “I don’t know, sweetie, but I should probably go find a way to explain why I wasn’t in the room he assigned me.” He was grinning, but it was somewhat forced. “Don’t worry, Parisa, it’ll be fine.”

He dressed quickly and then stood by the door listening intently. I watched as he turned the lock as quietly as he could and then cracked the door. Dad was gone and we could both hear him downstairs talking to Dean and Sam. He blew me a kiss and crept out. I got up and relocked the door, just in case Dad decided to recheck when he finally came to bed. I pulled the blankets and pillows back on the bed, and then put my panties and John’s shirt back on, when I realized, his scent was too fresh on this one. Looking down I nearly groaned, he’d left the wrong fucking shirt behind. And this one, the one I had put on, as I walked toward the window, wasn’t black. It was red. Shit.


	5. Chapter 5

Know what truly puts a damper on that hot itchy feeling I got from John’s hands under the dinner table and then when he finally grabbed me in my bedroom? Laying in my bed, which doesn’t squeak under my weight alone by the way, and listening intently for the first sounds of a ratcheting of a shotgun. 

I wondered how John was going to explain to Dad where he’d been during the “search”. I wondered how he was going to explain the change in shirt colors. I wondered at what point was Dad going to call bullshit and grab that fucking shot gun and chase his ass away. And that kept me awake, for hours, until I heard the soft footsteps coming up the stairs. The quiet chatter between deep male voices as they bid one another goodnight, and then the hiss of doors being shut down the hallway outside my door. 

I lay awake waiting, hopeful that John would knock or find some other way to let me know he was on the other side of my door. I also worried that he would, and that Dad, eagle eyed and hound eared would hear him. Caught somewhere between the two, I finally drifted off into a fitful sleep. 

When I woke up, the sun was shining through the lace curtains that hung in my window and I could sort of hear birdsong. Sort of, because I could also hear louder male voices and they were drowning out the birds. I lay still, listening, and trying to decide if they were ANGRY male voices. I heard a bark of laughter and let myself relax. I shut my eyes and let my heart beat return from the slight gallop it had started upon waking. Feeling mildly less tense, I sat up and started for the door of my room. 

I flicked the lock and opened the door. Padding to the bathroom before even considering braving downstairs. I had just finished my morning ritual and opened the door when I was confronted with a broad chest. Looking up, my eyes met green ones and a smirking mouth. Ah, Dean, the eldest of John’s sons. And his eyes were roving over my entire length, the smirk dropping when he took in the shirt I was wearing. FUCK. 

“Dad said he changed his shirt because he spilled a little something on it,” his eyes met mine and I gulped. “I’m startin’ to wonder what the spill was.” 

Shit. I was saved from answering when we heard John call up to Dean from downstairs. Dean called back that he’d be a second, needed to “take a leak”. And then his eyes met mine again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I offered, brushing past him. “A lot of women sleep in oversized shirts.” 

His smirk was back. “Do they all smell like my dad?” Then it dawned on him, the reason this was SUCH a bad secret. “Bobby definitely doesn’t know.” He chuckled. “Looks like Dad might be in trouble with Singer again.” With that he walked into the bathroom, shooting me a conspiratorial grin before shutting the door. 

Again? I wondered, walking into my bedroom and changing into some actual clothes. I grabbed a sundress from my bag, still packed, just in case. Tugging it over my head, I had to consider why Dad would have been in trouble with my dad before. Sliding my feet into the wandering flip flops from the day before, I shook my hair over my shoulders and gave myself a pep talk.

“You can do this. Dad doesn’t know. John covered it. Dean doesn’t want his dad murdered by my dad, so there’s nothing to worry about.” I repeated the words to myself for a few minutes, until they almost sunk in, or they lost all meaning. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and left my room. 

I walked straight into the kitchen, hoping that Dad and John were located in the library. Of course not, I thought as I found them both, along with Sam sitting at a table filled with breakfast, books, and more weapons. Dad smiled up at me, then squinted at my face. What now?

“Sweetheart, you look like you haven’t slept a wink.” Oh, yeah, I thought, cause I didn’t. “Did we keep you up with our yacking?” 

I made it to the fridge, grabbing what was left of my orange juice. “No, it wasn’t you guys.” I glanced at the table, seeing John’s dimples come out to play. Not all of you, I added internally. “Although, did someone try to open my door last night? I swear I heard the knob jangle.” I took down a glass and filled it full of juice. When I turned I saw that Dad had a flush of red on his cheeks. “Dad?” 

“Sorry, honey,” he looked almost chastened. “I went up looking for John.” He realized what he’d just said, as though he was accusing me of something that clearly wasn’t a happy thought to him. He hurried to reassure me, and himself I suspect. “And while I was up there already, I thought I’d check on you to make sure we weren’t making a nuisance out of ourselves.” 

I might have laughed. Maybe, but the look on his face when he’d thought about that fear, of me and John together, made me stop. Was it really that terrible to consider? I took a sip of my juice and tried to see it from Dad’s point of view. 

John Winchester was a hunter. That alone was a problem with my dad, given how he’d hidden his own hunting from me. He was older. He had two sons that were more my age than he was. He was a widower, the whole reason that he became a hunter. And he had his own demons, ones that we hadn’t gotten around to exorcising. Would Dad really tally him into the “not my damn daughter” category?

I thought about the boyfriend he’d chased off with the shotgun. He’d been my age, but my age at that time was sixteen. He’s been tall, and athletic, and if I were being honest with myself, a tad bit dangerous. Leather jacket, jeans, and that car he drove. What kind was it? Something muscle car like and male. When he’d roared into the yard, close enough to the house to stir up dust like I couldn’t believe, I’d barely gotten the words of introduction out before Dad had that shotgun ready to go. 

Basically a younger John. When Dean joined us, I nearly spit out my juice. Or a Dean Winchester. I realized with clarity that Dean, aside from the lightness of his hair and eye color would have been a match for both younger John and my ex. Dear Lord. Apparently Dad noticed my focus on the eldest Winchester son and his eyes narrowed. Oh shit. 

“Took a pretty long time up there, didn’t ya, Dean?” Dad asked, looking between the two of us as Dean loaded his plate up with bacon and eggs. I could almost READ the thoughts rolling through Dad’s mind. Dean shrugged, taking a bite of bacon and making a sound almost as indecent as I had when John had manipulated me under the table during dinner. If anything that made Dad’s eyes more narrow. Shit.

“Yeah, my fault.” Fuck, his eyes turned to glare at me. Wrong words, Parisa, wrong words. “I mean I was taking my sweet time, he knocked, but you can’t rush me, you know that, Dad.” He considered my words, the attempted sincerity that flowed through my words, and some of the heat in his eyes died. “I’d just opened the door when John called up.” 

Somewhat pacified, Dad refocused on breakfast and whatever they were preparing for. Part of me wanted to ask if I was heading back to my grandparents’ or if I was allowed to stay, but I knew from years of knowing my dad and his moods, that now was not the time. 

I drank my juice, glancing at John only when I couldn’t help myself, and caught Dean catching the look we shared when I moved my eyes from his. Fuck. His smirk was growing and I glared at him, hoping that he’d keep his mouth shut. I swallowed a laugh when Dean jerked, clearly having been kicked under the table by- lifting my eyes, I saw John’s meet mine. Question clear in his gaze. Shit, here we go again.

Finishing my liquid breakfast, I was walking from the kitchen when Dad called out to me. “Sweetheart, why don’t you stay for a while longer?” I was happy he was saying to my back, because my face was probably a fucking picture. “John came with news of something that needs taken care of, and I’d rather you stay where I can be sure you’re safe.” 

“Of course, Daddy.” I answered, leaving the kitchen to return to my bedroom for a book.

I was lying on my bed, having remade it and propped the pillows against the curiously silent headboard, reading one of the toss away novels I kept on hand for downtime. My door was slightly opened, enough so I could hear anyone coming upstairs. Or I would if this particular novel hadn’t sucked me so far in that I was engrossed to the point that I heard nothing. 

“Hey,” that voice, damn it. I looked up to see John standing inside, door clicking closed behind him, but he didn’t make a move toward me. 

“Hey yourself.” I smiled and tossed down the book. He looked tense, which made me tense. Shit, had I been so focused on a fucking book that I hadn’t heard Dad kick them out?

There was a smile ghosting his lips, and I nearly sighed at the release of my panic. “You looked a little freaked out for a sec there, sweetheart.” I rolled my eyes. “Want to tell me what’s going on between you and Dean?” Of course, men.

I sat up and gave me a half smile. “Do you really think I’d be interested in your son, John?” I felt the dripping incredulous-ness that my tone held to my very core. Dean? After John? Who downgrades? “What you are clearly misreading, along with Dad, would be the discomfort that comes from him seeing me wearing the shirt that you were wearing prior to your ‘disappearance’.” 

I watched as his eyes closed and he let out a long breath. He must have been as fucking tense I had been. “Ah.” He opened his eyes and smiled at me. “What did you say?”

“That many women wear oversized t-shirts to bed.” I shook my head. “Apparently, however, sharing all those motel rooms with those boys has made their sense of smell as fucking advanced as yours, because he countered with the fact that those other women’s nightshirts probably don’t smell like you.” I met his eyes and offered my own take. “And they fucking better not.” 

He laughed silently. “Not a single one. I promise.” His hand was over his heart and I felt my own thump painfully. “I love you, Parisa Allison. I guess I don’t tell you that enough.” 

I stood up and walked to him, being far more careful than I would in any other situation. Standing on my tiptoes, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. When we parted, I told him that he told me in so many ways, and I loved him too. “You’d better get back, I’d hate for Dad to start a search party.” We both sighed, and shared a look. “I want to tell him, but,” another sigh, “it has to be at the right time.” 

He nodded, understanding in ways I didn’t yet understand. “We will.” He gave me another peck on my lips and left. As I stood by my partially opened door, wondering what situation would make it the right time.


	6. Chapter 6

I kept busy while the four men in Dad’s house worked out their plan of attack for whatever big bad they were dealing with on this particular hunt. I wasn’t expecting anyone to seek me out, but Dad did, not long after John left my room.

“Sweetheart,” he started, taking a seat in the chair by my desk. “How did you know about hunting?”

Ah, shit, I hadn’t thought about that. I tried to think of a way to explain that wouldn’t get John ran off or shot. “I met a hunter at school.” I offered, seeing his eyebrows raised, I realized I just admitted that school wasn’t as safe as I’d made it out to be. “One night, I got pretty consumed by my research. The night I actually chose the slant I would take with it, actually. And I didn’t realize that it had gotten dark, and I hadn’t driven to the campus.” I could see the lecture building, but I kept going. “I was walking across the quad, when I heard it, him, the hunter. He’d been hurt.” I could still see John’s slumping figure, the blade in his hand, the blood on his face. Blinking it away, I continued. “I offered him help. He reminded me a bit of you, I guess, gruff and grumpy.” He had, especially in the bathroom standoff for his shirt. “He told me, elaborated on your vague warnings I guess. And then, when they showed up, it clicked.” I shrugged, hoping he didn’t ask more leading questions. Like who was the hunter?

Dad was turning over my words in his head. And I was trying to stay still on my bed, where I had gone back to reading after John’s visit. He nodded, and I thought I was free and clear. “Just the one time?” Of course, Dad wanted to know how often me and the mysterious hunter had connected. Or maybe he wanted to know just how fucking dangerous my college was.

“Yeah, just the one time.” I agreed, feeling like a lying turd, but also not wanting Dad to worry. On either count. “Although it did make me take some first aid courses.” I smiled, and he beamed back at me. “If this Master’s thing doesn’t pan out, I am totally qualified to work as an EMT.”

Dad chuckled, knowing that there was absolutely no way I wouldn’t finish what I’d started. “That’s good to know, sweetie.” He stood up and moved to kiss me on my forehead. “I’ll let you get back to reading.” He glanced at the cover of my book and shook his head. “Even if it is trash.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing at that. It was true, the toss away novels I kept for downtime weren’t exactly the classics. Dad left, and I was alone to consider how I was going to make it up to him when my relationship with John was made clear. I’d lied, pure and simple. And I don’t remember ever lying to my daddy. Jesus, what a mess.

That night, after hours of reading for me and unknown preparation for the guys, we sat around the kitchen table eating an actual cooked dinner. After Dad and the others had conceded that food was a necessary evil, and that perhaps the kitchen table wasn’t the best place to clean their weapons. I had a feeling this edict would go out the window when I wasn’t around to make it reasonable, but for now I was pacified. I’d cooked a meal of chicken breasts, mashed potatoes, rolls, gravy, and Italian green beans. No one spoke during the meal. John even kept his wandering hands to himself. And for a few minutes I grew wary. They ate, and ate, and ate, until it was all gone. Well everything but what was on my plate. Nerves I supposed kept my appetite low. Waiting to see what they’d thought of this meal I’d made.

When the last bite was swallowed, I took a careful sip from my glass and sat back to see if anyone would say a word. Dad was the first to open his mouth, but John beat him to the punch with actual words.

“My God, Parisa, that was delicious.” His eyes locked on mine, and I knew it wasn’t just a compliment for compliment’s sake. I hadn’t gotten to cook for him, not yet, because I rarely knew when he’d show up. We ate leftovers, we ate carryout or delivery, or we ate out when he showed up. This was the first meal he’d eaten as soon as I’d made it.

Dad’s eyes squinted, looking from John to me, and I felt it. “It most definitely was, sweetheart.” His hand touched mine on the table, drawing my attention back to him. “But then again, you ALWAYS make the best meals.” For fuck’s sake, was Dad jealous that John appreciated my food and gave the first damn compliment to me? Shit.

“Thank you, both of you.” I smiled at John and kissed Dad’s cheek. “I’m guessing you two don’t have any complaints?” I looked up at Dean and Sam, who were watching the interaction between my dad, their dad, and me with uncomfortable focus.

Dean’s smirk was blooming bright. “Not at all, sunshine.” He winked and I swear I almost heard the two men flanking me growl in sync. Shaking my head I waited for Sam to weigh in, he was far quieter than his brother, a little less in your face.

“Yeah, Parisa, it was amazing. Thank you.” Sam, ever the gentle giant, I thought. Even though I’d only met him yesterday. He was still watching Dad and John like a tennis match, which almost made me wonder what the two of them were doing, or expressing without words. Almost.

I smiled and stood up from the table. I was about to collect the empty plates, but Dad’s hand on my wrist stopped me. “Nope,” he shook his head. “You cooked, me and these three will clean up.”

That was new. Dad was usually completely at ease letting me take care of him and the house while I visited. Not that he expected it, but he did appreciate it. “OK, thank you.” I walked out of the kitchen, hearing them begin the same clucking tongues that they’d started when I’d left the room to order the pizza.

Dad came back to my room before bed that night. He wanted to let me know that they were going early in the morning to start the hunt.

“It may take a few days, honey, so I don’t want you to worry.” I nodded, even though the worry was taking root. “If the phones ring-”

“Are you actually leaving the door unlocked to the library?” I asked, shocked that he’d even consider it.

He chuckled. “Well, sweetheart, you know now.” He thought about what he’d been saying. “You don’t need to answer the phones. Just keep your cell handy, I’ll check in.” I nodded again. “Is that one of the reasons it started to ‘click’ with you, about me hunting?”

“Yeah, one of the reasons.” I smiled and sat up. “Multiple phones, landlines and cell. The fact that you answered each one SLIGHTLY differently. And the locked rooms.” I shrugged. “Before I met-” I nearly said ‘John’, but caught myself just in time. “The hunter, I just thought you were used to having your own space. And since I only visited here and there, it made sense.”

Dad looked a little uncomfortable. “I’m sorry about that, sweetie.”

“Dad?” I had a burning question, something that I’d never dared asked, but since we were sharing now, why not? He motioned for me to go on. “Why don’t you ever talk about Mom?”

His eyes, usually careful about making eye contact, fell to my blanket. As though he hoped to find answers in the paisley pattern. “What do you mean?”

I sighed. “You never tell me about her. Or the two of you. You don’t even acknowledge her existence.” He glanced up at me. “Grams and Pop-Pop tell me things, but they didn’t love her like you did, or like I think you did.”

He groaned, and rose to pace. “I’m sure your grandparents have a lot to say about your mama and me. Especially me.”

“Daddy, Grams and Pop-Pop don’t talk down about you. Not even close.” I smiled as he stopped in his tracks. “When I was too little to visit you, they told me all about how you swept Mom off her feet and how the two of you reminded them of themselves. They made you seem like a king who found his queen. And that I was your princess. You were my hero, even before my first night in this house.”

He wasn’t expecting that. Not even close. “They said that?” I nodded. He ran a hand over his face and almost fell into the chair again. “I was sure-” He was almost talking to himself. “They had every right to-”

I waited, clearly sharing was new for both of us. At least about this. It took him a few minutes to come to terms with the fact that my grandparents didn’t think he was a monster, though I had no idea why they would.

He sighed, and moved to sit beside me on my bed. It squeaked, and I glared at the noise. “Your mama, Parisa, was the only woman that had ever made me consider having kids. She fought to show me that I wasn’t like my own dad.” He closed his eyes, remembering something about a grandfather I’d never heard about. “He wasn’t a good man. Hell, he was barely a human. And I was so scared, darlin’, so terrified that I’d be like him.” I took his hand and held it. “Karen, your mama, she went circles around with me, reminding me of all the ways I wasn’t him. She finally convinced me, and we found out you were on the way.” His smile was sad, and suddenly I wondered if Dad became a hunter in the same way John had. “In the beginning of her pregnancy it was amazing. She really did glow. But the closer the time came for you to come into this world, the more she changed. I thought it was hormones. I shrugged off the intuition that I felt that something was truly wrong.” His eyes closed and I saw a tear escape. “One day, her eyes went totally black. She growled at me and told me that she’d consume you as soon as you were born. That was the only reason she existed.” He gulped, his eyes opening and locking on mine. “I didn’t understand, Parisa, I’d never seen evil that wasn’t truly human, like my dad. I didn’t know how to stop it, what was inside of her, and she died at my hand to save you.”

I felt my eyes go wide. My mom died because of me? I tried to take my hand from his, but he held fast. My heart pounded, and I felt like screaming or throwing up.

“I didn’t know, honey.” Dad was whispering. “I didn’t know that it wasn’t HER. That something had taken hold of her, something that wanted you.” He was trying to force me to look at him, but a survivor's guilt started to gnaw at me. “I had you in my arms, somehow you’d survived, they said because she was almost at the end of her pregnancy anyway. The official story was an accident, but I knew, even if everyone else didn’t that I’d killed her. I murdered my own wife. And I couldn’t possibly be able to keep you safe. Not if I couldn’t keep her safe. That’s why I asked your grandparents to raise you.” He smiled at me, sad, but serene almost. “They raised the woman I loved, made her the sweetest and kindest woman I knew, so I knew they’d repeat it with you.”

“It was my fault.” I whispered. Feeling the pain of not knowing my mother crush down over me. All because something evil wanted to devour me.

“Aw, no, Parisa.” Dad pulled me to his chest, kissing my head. “Sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault. If hunting has taught me anything, it’s that evil doesn’t need a reason. They make one up or they taunt you into thinking it’s your fault or you haven’t got another choice.” He pulled back and wiped away tears I hadn’t felt fall from my cheeks. “Wasn’t your fault. Wasn’t her fault. Hell, there are times that I can convince myself it wasn’t even my fault. Your mama wouldn’t want you to feel guilt for being alive, sweetheart. She wanted you to live. That’s why she fought so damn hard to make me realize that I could be a daddy.” He smiled and kissed my forehead. “You, Parisa Singer-Allison, were meant to be alive.”

Dad left not long after. We cried, we bonded. We gave one another things to think over. I picked up my cell phone and texted John.

“I hear you’re leaving in the morning.” Mine read.

A ding and I looked at his reply. “Yeah, I’d love to spend tonight with you, but that damn bed and your dad’s tendency to come do bed check-”

I grinned. “Which room did you get assigned to?”

A few beats and another ding. “Four doors down from yours.”

Feeling wicked, I replied. “Does your damn bed squeak too?”

This ding came faster. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

“Maybe I should do an inspection?”

I’d barely pressed send when the ding chimed. “Maybe you should.”

“Let me know the best time to perform my duty, Mr. Winchester.”

I swear the ding nearly made me jump out of my skin with want. “Will do, princess.”

I practically jumped out of bed. Grabbing my nightgown, a safer bet, not John’s shirt, just in case Dad chose to visit me again, and rushed to the bathroom for a shower, shave, and preparation for what I hoped would be a good send off for my hunter. Unlike last night, I took my time and had a warm and luxurious bath. I made sure the hair that shouldn’t exist was gone, the hair that should be groomed and sweet smelling, and that my skin was soft and clean. And I prayed, like I had never prayed, that John’s fucking bed didn’t make a fucking sound.

When I finished, and wiped the steam build up off the mirror, I took stock. My hair was hanging in wet ringlets, my skin looked fresh and glowing, and my eyes, well if they dilated any further, they’d be black. I pulled on my nightgown, having forgotten my panties in my rush, I realized that I could probably get away with going without. The gown was to my knees, and it covered all my pertinent bits, just in case Dad decided to pop in to say goodnight, which he would. Of course he would.

I’d barely covered myself up and propped my back against my pillows, when a knock came to my door. Calling out for Dad to come in, he did. Smiling at his sweet, sort of innocent daughter laying so pristine and perfect in her bed. I could almost read these thoughts running through Dad’s mind. He came over, assured me once again that everything would go well on their hunt, that I shouldn’t worry, and that I should keep my cell phone close so he could check in. As if speaking the phone’s name, it dinged, causing him to look at me.

“Sorry, Grams likes to say goodnight and I just taught her texting.” I smiled, ignoring the face down phone sitting on my side furthest from Dad.

He gave me an indulgent smile and kissed me goodnight, and goodbye, since he was sure I wouldn’t be awake to see them off. “We’re leaving before dawn, sweetheart.” He told me, and gave me a hug, hearing that I’d be fine (what 25 year old who lived alone all year long wouldn’t be, I wondered), and another kiss on my forehead and he left. My door closed behind him, and since he knew it wasn’t locked when he came in, and that I was already in bed, I wouldn’t need to when I went to inspect John’s bed for squeaks.

Turning my cell over, I read John’s text. “I’ll be up in about an hour. That should give Bobby time to settle in for the night.”

“Tell me when you’re actually in bed, babe.” I rolled my eyes, and turned off my lamp, just in case Dad decided to do a bed check before John came up.

I ended up waiting an hour and a half. Just to be sure that Dad didn’t come sniffing around, although I had bets that he’d rush into Dean’s room before even considering John now. The hallway was dark. Even without visiting all that much, I’d memorized the squeaky boards along the hall years earlier, knowing that Dad would get all up in arms if I was snooping where he didn’t want me to. I saw a hint of light under the door that John told me was his, and with a soft knock, I entered.

I was utterly thankful that he hadn’t miscounted. That our luck of false starts, of unsatisfying endings, and comedy of errors had apparently run out. He was laying back on his own bed, jeans on the chair nearby, shirt tossed on top, and I hoped, God I hoped that he’d gone Commando, because honestly my body was practically humming from the mere thought of finally having him.

“Get over here, princess.” That voice, there were days that I could swear he could order me to stab a hole in the person next to me in that voice and I’d do it. I didn’t rush, not knowing this room’s noisy boards. I took my time, pulling my nightgown over my head as I neared his bed and tossing it to join his clothes on the chair. I heard him sigh, his eyes taking in my bare body, and then he reached for me.  
I have never been so fucking excited over a quiet bed frame. The headboard made not a single noise as my weight joined his. And then, he rolled until he was over me. His lips finding mine, his hand reaching for the lamp, just in case Dad came peeking or wondering why he was still up, turning it off and allowing only the light from the moon and stars to guide us.

He was completely bare under his blanket, and I was thankful. We didn’t wait, we couldn’t. His hardness found my center like we’d been made for one another and then joined, we tested the bed’s shock system. Neither needed to be told that silence, or near silence was of the essence, and because we needed one another so fucking much it was easy to comply. We rode the waves, pushing one another, pulling, thrusting and rolling, and it was exactly how I wanted to send him off.

I was barely awake when he kissed me and got up to dress. The time had come, clearly for them to go. I couldn’t open my eyes, or even speak to tell him to be safe. To come back to me. To keep my dad safe. Sleep took me as I heard the door click shut and by the time I woke up, happy and content at first because I’d made love to the man I loved, they had been gone for hours.

I’d worry, because what person wouldn’t worry when they knew that two people they loved were out in the world battling something most people didn’t believe in much less know existed? But, as I promised Dad, I kept my phone close, waiting for their update.


	7. Chapter 7

When I woke up in John’s temporary room in Dad’s house, I had a few thoughts flash through my head. The first was overwhelming satisfaction and happiness that I’d gotten to make love to him before he left. And then, glancing around the room a surge of panic hit. What if Dad had come in to wake him this morning and seen us together? I knew he hadn’t because no amount of sexual exhaustion would have drowned out that shit hitting the fan. Another of course was, what if he’d gone looking for me in my own room first, and finding it empty had started a really fucking scary version of “duck, duck, goose” to find me?

Since I was looking at a few days alone, I started pulling off the bedding on John’s bed. Then I went room to room repeating the action, even in both mine and Dad’s. Screw it, I thought, laundry is one way to keep occupied while waiting for Dad to call, and hopefully John to text. I tossed a load into the machine, then walked around the house, smiling at the unlocked rooms that I’d never had access to before.

The library, or what Dad called his library, called to me. Standing in the doorway, I looked around the room. The controlled chaos, the books and papers and other paraphernalia that I’d seen pieces of when John visited me. He had a journal, Dad had a bookshelf worth. My fingers tingle, the urge to pick one up and look through it was almost unbearable, but then I stopped myself. What if whatever caused Dad to kill my mom was in one of those books? Did I want to see it? Did I want to read something my dad might have written about it and her? No, I thought, backing away and going to find my novel. 

I read, while the bedclothes were washed, dried, and then I’d put them on the proper beds. After that self-imposed chore was finished, I washed the clothes I could find that would constitute as dirty. Dean had left a set of clothes behind on the floor, Sam’s were tucked into a chair in his room, John’s were on the top of his bag where he usually put them, and mine and Dad’s were in the hamper. I checked the pockets of Dean and Sam, knowing that both John and Dad always emptied theirs before putting on a new set. In Dean’s I found a couple condoms, a few scraps of paper, and some change. Putting it in a bowl from the kitchen, I checked Sam’s finding some change which I put in his own bowl. 

The clothes constituted a single load, so it took far less time, but with the multiple loads of bedding first, I’d pretty much tore through the day. My phone was always in my pocket. It didn’t ring, it didn’t ding, and I tried very hard not to start fretting. Once the clothes were back in the proper bedrooms, with any left behind pocket stuff, I took a long hot bath. I read my book. I grabbed a light dinner. And, as I was about to lay down and force myself to try to sleep. I got a call and a ding.

Dad offered an apology for the delay. “We got into a bit of a situation, nothing to worry about, just these people are less trusting than usual.” He asked how I was doing, if I was finding something to occupy myself, and then he bid me goodnight. Promising to call me tomorrow, we said “I love you,” and hung up.

John’s text was simple. “I miss you. I’m fine. I love you.”

I smiled and texted him back. “Miss you, too. I’m glad you’re safe, stay that way. Come back to me. I love you.”

Sleep came easy after that. My last thought before going under was how I hoped that it stayed easy. 

They were gone for two more days. And each night, before I went to sleep, I’d get a call from Dad and a text from John. It helped keep me calm. It helped me sleep. And during the day it made finding things to occupy myself with easier.

I got a tense call that final day. Dad telling me in a tight voice where to find his first aid supplies, but not telling me who was hurt. He let me know that they were close, and I needed to be ready. And then he muttered, before hanging up, that he was so fucking happy I took those classes.

I found the kit where Dad directed. I rummaged through it to see if it was well stocked, and was pleased to see that it was better stocked than some that I’d seen in the infirmary at school. Not knowing what I’d need or who was wounded, I washed my hands and pulled out the box of gloves. I heard the roar of John’s truck and the Impala that Dean as they barreled up to the house. Rushing to the front door, I yanked it open and my heart stopped. 

Dean and Sam were pulling John from the backseat of the car. He was so pale, and there was SO much fucking blood it looked surreal. I had to fight to recenter myself, if I lost my shit and allowed my emotions to overrun, then I would be no fucking use to the man I loved. They carried him inside, and to the kitchen table. Laying him over it, with me on their heels and Dad coming from behind giving me a brief rundown of what happened, I had to do it again. Swallowing hard, and listening intently to what Dad was telling me, I moved forward and pulled on a pair of gloves.

The long and short of it was that he’d been taken down trying to cover Dad. Whatever evil they’d fought, I barely listened to that part, it had gotten him in the neck and shoulder area and just above his jeans, right under the ribs that I’d checked that first night. 

I took a pair of scissors and cut through his shirts. Pulling them open to get a look at what I was working with, the wound on his shoulder looked far worse than it was, and the one above his jeans was deep, but healable. I worked fast, cleaning the lower wound first, despite the insistence from Dean that the neck was clearly the more severe. Once I could see past the flow of blood, I drew out needle and thread, and began the careful, even stitches that I’d seen our instructor show us. Having only been allowed to practice on fabric, using the curved needle through skin and tissue was a learning experience. I was scared, though, because John hadn’t made a single sound while I worked. Stitches complete, I applied a sterile bandage, taping it tight against his skin.

Moving upward to his neck and shoulder, I cleaned it as thoroughly as I had the one on his abdomen. Then, taking the needle and thread up again, I started working, but this time while I worked I talked to him. 

“John Winchester, you’d better wake your sorry ass up right now.” I used the needle to close the wound, keeping the stitches as small as I could manage in the curve of it. “Do you hear me, John? You promised. You told me you’d come back to me. Well, you’re here, but you’re not here.” I kept stitching, and my mouth kept moving, completely oblivious to my audience. “I swear if you don’t wake up,” I choked back a sob. “I’ll kick your fucking corpse until you fucking do. Do you hear me?” I felt him twitch under my hand. “Keep still, I have a sharp object against your fucking jugular.” I shook my head, but kept moving, feeling more motivated now that he’d moved. “You gonna open those eyes I love so much, baby? Come on, look at me.” I was almost finished, and I was begging now. “John, come on, please, please wake up for me.” 

It took until I banaged his neck, but he finally fought against his unconsciousness to find me above him, taping another strip down. “Hey, sweetheart.” His voice sounded rough, and I closed my eyes at the soothing feeling of hearing him again. “Fuck, what happened?” He tried to sit up, but Dean, Sam, and I held him to the table. “Ouch.” 

I chuckled and brushed a kiss on his dry lips. “Lay still, you fucking ass. I just stitched you back together in two fucking places.” 

And then, I heard Dad clear his throat, and glancing up I realized that now the cat was all the way out of the bag.


	8. Chapter 8

As I was hovering over John Winchester, having just sewed him up in two different places, I’d done what he and I had been racking our brains to figure out how to do. I’d let Dad know that we were together without making eye contact with the poor man. When he cleared his throat I was forced to realize that John and I, in that tense bubble that comes with emotional upheaval, weren’t alone.

I swallowed hard, but held John down with pressure on his uninjured side. Sitting up wasn’t a great idea right now for him, not only because he was hurt, but honestly I didn’t want Dad to see that he was still in beating shape. Or shooting shape. I sighed, and met my dad’s eyes as I straightened up. Dean wasn’t smirking, not now, as he moved to stand at his father’s head. His lips were in a tight line, and I realized by moving to John’s head, he was standing as protector. 

I didn’t pay attention to Sam. I couldn’t let my gaze flicker from Dad’s, not yet. I swallowed the lump in my throat that was growing painful. I felt tears stinging my eyes, but I stood tall. 

“Dad,” I started, my voice sounding far more calm than I felt. “I didn’t, we didn’t want you to find out like this.” My hand was still on John’s shoulder, and I saw Dad’s eyes flick to it. “The hunter. The one I mentioned I’d met at school.”

His face was tighter than Dean’s lips. Jesus, just let the fucking kitchen swallow me whole already. I waited. And waited. And waited. The silence being broken only by the sounds of the five of us breathing. Dad moved, rubbing a hand down his face, and then he did something that scared me more than if he’d grabbed a weapon and attacked. He turned and walked out the kitchen without a word.

The Winchester men and I stood silent in the kitchen. I wasn’t entirely sure why they were silent, but I was listening for signs that Dad hadn’t attacked only because he wasn’t armed and was now off looking for that damn shotgun of his. I heard his feet climbing the stairs and sighed. He was pissed, most definitely, but right now I was fairly sure that more than that, he was disappointed by me. By my lying. By my keeping something this huge from him for so fucking long. 

It was a tense time, for obvious reasons all around. Dean and Sam helped John sit up. When he was perched on the side of the table, he pulled me to him and held me. I let my face press against his bare chest, feeling his chest hair tickle my cheek as I turned to press my ear to his heart. The steady rhythm of it was soothing, especially after he’d been unresponsive earlier. It didn’t help the raging fear and guilt I had for Dad finding out about us like that, but I knew he was trying to take some of it away. 

“He was going to find out sooner or later, Pari.” John’s breath was fanning across the top of my head. “It wasn’t how I wanted him to, but at least he knows now.”   
I sighed, “I know. It’s just-” I pulled slightly back and looked up at him. “I lied to him, John. I’ve never outright, boldfaced lied to Dad. Ever.” Closing my eyes, all I could see was the look he’d given me before walking out of the kitchen. Disappointment. Ugh. “He gave me the opening, before you left, to tell him. He’d asked the one question that would have allowed me to tell him, and I LIED. I was a coward.” 

John cupped my cheek in his hand. “You’re not a coward, sweetheart.” He kissed my forehead and then looked back into my eyes. “I should have told him. I should have taken him aside when I saw you come down those damn stairs that first day.”

“So you’re both cowards,” Dean offered. I let out a mirthless chuckle. “It’s over. Done.” Wow, he’s a compassionate guy, I thought. “Let’s hit the sack, and then tomorrow, when Bobby works through the news, we’ll worry. But I’m fucking tired.” 

John shot his eldest a look. Sam, acting as mediator chimed in. “Look, it’s not the best way to have told him, sure, but-” He stopped, and I waited to hear what the gentle giant came up with. “Bobby loves you, Parisa. He’s not going to lose you just because you picked-” 

I gave a sad smile at John, listening as his youngest tried to wrap his head around me and his dad. “Maybe you’re both right.” I shrugged. “I’m going to clean up the carnage here, and then I’m heading to bed.” 

I pulled all the way out of John’s embrace and started tossing the gloves, bandage wrappings, and other paraphernalia out. He hopped down, hissing at the pull of stitches on his side, but recovered and started to help me. We scrubbed down the table. He threw away his ruined shirts. And soon, no one could have guessed that the kitchen had been a makeshift ER. 

The boys had headed upstairs, Dean jockeying for the first shower. Once the kitchen looked as pristine as it would ever look, we walked out and flipped the light switch. John headed toward the front door to lock up and I took the stairs to my room quietly and slowly. He caught up to me, but we both knew that sharing a room tonight would be a terrible idea. After a kiss, not long or sultry enough for either of us, we parted. I’d managed to stay clean throughout John’s stitches, so I tossed off my clothes and pulled on a nightshirt. It was the red one that John had accidentally dropped when Dad had come looking for him, and his scent clung to the fabric.

As I laid in bed, sleep forcing itself upon me, I let my last thought be about how happy I was that John had made it back to me. And I tried desperately not to dwell on how Dad had looked at the news.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incredibly short chapter. And a cliffhanger. Yet, I promise it will be worth it in the end.

It took me a while to finally fall asleep. Even with focusing on John’s far better prognosis now that he was up and moving, sleep ran from me. It finally let me catch it, only for me to be woken in the dark by what I could tell were gunshots. What the FUCK?!

Jumping from my bed and rushing into the hallway, I could see that both Dad’s and John’s doors were open. Checking to be sure, I took a deep breath to steel myself when I found both beds empty. The bathroom door was open, too, the room dark. Fuck, did Dad decide to wait until I was out to take John outside to “show” him his wonderful shotgun?

I slipped into a pair of shoes and rushed down the stairs. As I opened the backdoor, I wondered briefly if I should have checked on Dean and Sam. Convince them to check on the sounds of gunfire, so I could hide my head under my pillow and pretend it was another nightmare. A shot sounds and pushes me out of that line of thought, making my feet pick up speed. 

I have to stop at some point, just to listen for more sounds, so I can be sure I’m heading in the right direction. Muttering, I hear voices so low that sounds like muttering and following the sounds. I’m near to where the voices are coming from, they’re getting louder when I jump from another shot ringing out. Closing my eyes for strength, I open them to a chuckle. Honestly? Would Dad laugh after he killed John? Fuck.

I move forward, part of me terrified of what I’m going to find, part of me just needing to see. And as the moon shines down on the scene in front of me, I find myself gasping so loud that I’m certain that Sam and Dean can hear me from the house.


	10. Chapter 10

I was utterly and entirely pissed. As I slammed around the kitchen that not hours ago John and I had cleaned free of his fucking blood, I considered the scene I’d left outside. My dad and the man I loved, shooting together as though it was not a huge fucking deal after Dad learned about the two of us. As though I wouldn’t be woken by GUNSHOTS and assume the very fucking worse. 

And as they shot, laughed, and had a grand old time, I’d gasped so loud that they heard me. Or maybe I’d stepped on something and they heard that, but honestly I was so fucking annoyed that the two of them had patched it all up with a trip to the ‘very close to the house’ impromptu shooting range. I’d thrown up my fucking hands and stalked back to the house. Pissed off at the entire world. Or at least the two men outside, and fucked if I wasn’t completely mad that the other two for sleeping through the whole fucking thing. 

Which was why I was banging everything I could find in the kitchen, as I made myself a cup of tea. The loudest fucking cup of tea that had ever been made, thank you very much. The teapot had begun to whistle, but I was in no fucking rush to stop it, and then a large male hand beat me to it anyway. 

“What the hell, Parisa?” Dean groaned, slamming the steaming pot on a cold burner. 

Sam wasn’t with him, which made me wonder if I hadn’t been loud enough. If I couldn’t sleep, then I was sharing the wealth. “Didn’t you fucking hear the gunshots?” I growled, reaching for the teapot. “No, of course not, but me making noise in the kitchen, that you hear.” I shook my head and poured the hot water of my teabag. 

“Gunshots?” Dean’s eyes, which had been droopy from sleep, popped wide. “Where? Dad? Bobby?” 

I laughed at his newly acquired give a fuck. “Yes, gunshots. Yes, John. Yes, Dad.” I was dipping the teabag up and down in my hot water. I shrugged at him like it was no big deal, because from what I’d seen outside, apparently it wasn’t.

Before Dean could do whatever he was trying to decide to do, we both heard the front door open. Dad and John could both move like vapor, so we heard nothing else until they were both standing in the doorway of the kitchen. I leaned against the sink, waiting for my tea to darken enough to drink. No one made a noise, well, other than me bouncing the bag up and down in the water. 

“Parisa,” Dad started, but when my eyes looked into his he stopped. 

John tried to take over, but he couldn’t seem to find the words either when our eyes met. “We were just-”

Dean was watching us like a tennis match, and I had to think that at this point a good tennis match might be better. “Well, since things seem quieter now,” he shot me a look, “think I’ll give sleep another go.” 

I rolled my eyes, pulling the teabag out of the water, and tossing it. Adding a spoonful of sugar, and stirring I sat down at the table. After a long quiet moment, I felt the two of them sit. Not on either side of me, but across the table, where Dean and Sam had sat during dinner all those days earlier. I kept stirring the tea, waiting for one of them to explain themselves. 

“Pari,” John started, urging me with his tone to look up at him. Sighing I did. “Bobby and me, we’re a lot alike.” 

Dad’s snort told me that he found that funnier than I did. “We get through things in a similar way, sweetheart,” Dad continued, making my eyes leave John to take in the calmness surrounding my dad. “Sometimes we just need to-”

“Shoot guns,” my voice was quiet, but I was still irritable and they both knew it. “In the middle of the night. Right after finding out about John and I, you and John thought having a shooting session was, what precisely?” 

I leaned back in my chair and watched them share a look. “It wasn’t just a shooting thing, Pari,” John offered, seeming to come to an understanding with Dad. 

“I told him he had to beat me,” Dad muttered. 

Beat him? What the hell? My confusion must have been so obvious to the two of them, yet now, they were studying anything but my face. Great, they’d reverted to naughty children. “Beat you?” I asked Dad, clearly wanting a better fucking understanding of the entire stupid episode.

“I had to best him, be a better shooter, at the targets he set up.” John told the table under his hands. 

I blinked. Did my dad actually decide that John and to WIN me in a contest of who’s the best fucking shot?! I could feel the anger flare up from my toes to the top of my head, and I was very glad that I wasn’t seeing myself in a mirror. They were both insane. Clearly this was the issue. Hunting the supernatural had somehow made them fucking stupid, that had to be the only damn reason for it. 

“Of course,” I was shocked at how steady I sounded. Steady, calm, but inside I was fighting the urge to throw my teacup at them. “Makes perfect sense.” I wasn’t even sure if I heard sarcasm in my tone. At this point, who fucking knew?

“Parisa,” Dad offered, finally looking up. “It wasn’t the-” he struggled with the appropriate word. Adult, I offered in my head, mature, or hell reasonable would work too. “Best idea, obviously.” He was looking at me, how I was dressed or not dressed as the case may be. Oh, nice, Dad, throw shit at me because I wasn’t dressed for your stupid contest. 

John’s lifting of his head caused me to shoot him his own look. “We should have waited until morning.” He agreed with Dad, without insulting my bedclothes. Although to be fair, I was wearing his shirt, so he probably got a thrill out of it. 

I nodded. “Which is what this conversation is going to wait for,” I announced. Getting up and carrying my tea with me. “Don’t wake me up for it, though, since I have some sleep to catch up on. Maybe hold off the bullets until normal people would deem it appropriate. If you don’t have any experience to go on, then let me give you a bit. If it’s fucking dark, and I’m not awake, it’s too fucking early.” 

I stomped back upstairs and locked my bedroom door behind me. Sitting the cup down on my bedside table, not wanting it, but not willing to show them that I’d made it for nothing I lay down on my bed and wonder what the fuck they were trying for with the shooting? 

Exhaustion, irritation, and the entire fucking ordeal made sleep come quickly. And I hoped, if they both knew what was good for them, they’d keep their shit to a dull roar. Because right now, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to be involved with either of their asses.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So part of me always said that I'd stop this story once Bobby knew about Pari and John's relationship. Let me know if this is a good stopping point or if I should go on? (And I know it's up to me, but I could make it go either way, honestly.)

I have to admit, falling asleep after the angst and anger of the previous night didn’t seem like it would be as simple as it actually turned out to be. Guess I was emotionally exhausted. It helped that Dad, John, and the Winchester sons all took me at my word and kept fucking quiet. By the time I resurfaced, it was mid afternoon. My phone hadn’t rung, dinged, or made a single noise during my extended rest, and for that I was grateful. 

When I woke up and was greeted by silence, at first I reveled in it. Silence. No bickering. No gunfire. No noise whatsoever. And then, the fear crept back in. Had John and his sons left? Had my anger, my irritation at him and Dad’s shooting session ran him off better than Dad’s fucking shotgun? Had Dad convinced him, and himself, that I was better off without hunters in my life since I couldn’t handle the weird shit they did to solve beef between them?

I lay in my bed, wondering just what I was going to be facing when I walked down the stairs. Would I see Dad, alone, and know that I’d managed to lose the one person that I’d felt passion and love with simply because I couldn’t handle it? My phone, silent for hours, dinged far too loud for the silence surrounding me. 

I picked it up, expecting a text from a friend from school or something else benign, having convinced myself that I’d lost John. And a smile grew on my face as I read the words. 

“When you wake up, I want the little photo bubble that shows me to be the first thing you see. When you wake up every day from here on out, I want my face to be the one you see. Parisa Singer-Allison, you are my world, even if I did have to beat your Dad at a stupid contest to make him come to terms with it.” 

I felt a giggle build, and the fear was replaced with the fact that John, and Dad for that matter, were made of far tougher stuff than a little anger like mine could faze. Getting out of bed became easier. I took my time getting a shower. I dressed in another sundress, and I braided my long hair down my shoulder. When I finally started down the stairs I realized that what I’d taken for complete silence, was four men watching something on television as they ate takeout and drank beer. They weren’t silent, just quiet. 

“What are you guys watching?” I asked from the doorway, laughing as they jumped in their seats at my voice. “Sorry.” 

John’s smile was echoed by Dad, and when he set his carton of Chinese down on the coffee table and held open his arms, I didn’t hesitate. Settling on his lap, I noticed that aside from an eye roll from Dad, there wasn’t any open hostility. Snuggling into John’s chest, I breathed him in, the musky smell of his cologne coupled with the smell of gun oil and leather that would always be uniquely him. I felt his lips on my temple and my grin grew. This felt so right, natural even. 

“Have a good rest, sweetheart?” Dad asked, taking a drink from his bottle. I nodded. “Good, I’m glad.” 

He refocused on whatever it was that they’d been watching before I came downstairs. “Hungry?” John’s voice was quiet in my ear, and I nodded. “Your favorites are in the kitchen.” I pulled away and stood up, a little surprised when he followed. He picked up his discarded carton and we walked to the kitchen. Free of the obvious eyes of my dad, John pulled me to him and kissed me deep and passionately. His lips a hair from my own, he breathed, “I’m so fucking glad he knows, Pari.” And then he kissed me again, our bodies pressed tight against one another. 

Suddenly, my favorite food didn’t matter, because I was hungry for something completely different. I felt John’s hands slide down my waist and tug at the skirt of my dress, pulling it up over my hips. His hands cupping my ass, and then I was on top of the table, with him standing between my parted legs. Panties pushed aside, pants unzipped, and then we were joined again. Keeping quiet, but needing this so much we couldn’t have waited for darkness, for the privacy of a locked room after the adrenaline of nearly losing him, of Dad learning about us, of the entire fucking ordeal of twenty-four hours overtook us. 

We were swallowing one another’s noises, thankful that the table didn’t have the same noise issues that my bed did, we were coming down from our combined satisfaction when we heard the most dreaded sound. A throat clearing. Fuck. Again?

Panting together, I looked up to see John’s eyes squinted shut, clearly thinking the same thing I had. I peeked around his body, and had to hold back my laughter. It wasn’t Dad. Thank you holy Jesus. Instead, Sam, poor sweet giant Sam had come into the kitchen to refresh everyone’s drinks. And as a reward for being gopher, he’d had to see his dad and me fucking on the very table that we shared meals on. 

“Uh,” Sam offered, seeing my peeking face and turning a lovely shade of red. “I just-” He held up a couple empty beer bottles. “We needed-” Dear God, he wasn’t going to make it. “Let me just-” He yanked open the fridge and grabbed a handful of beer after leaving the empties on the top of the fridge. And then, as though he’d just caught his dad balls deep in a woman closer to his own age, he scampered away. 

My laughter couldn’t be contained anymore. Giggles bubbled out of me and John’s laughter joined mine. Shit, that was hilarious. “Oops.” I offered, as John released me to straighten himself up. I did the same, shaking with mirth. “I think we scarred Sam.”

John’s eyes were twinkling with happiness and humor. “He’s shared a room with Dean for years, if that scarred him, then he hasn’t been paying attention for most of his fucking life, princess.” 

“I love you, John Winchester.” I said, hopping down from the table and hugging him. 

His lips touching the top of my head came before his answer. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, Pari.”


End file.
